Date: Sun, 26 Nov 2000 11:09:36 -0000
From: Jamie
Subject: Chris-and-Jamie Chapter 11
Same stuff - don't read this is u r underage or u don't like reading stories
of love between two boys.
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Dedicated, in loving memory, to Oliver - who's spirit will always be with us
in this world or the next.
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As I sleepily untangled myself from Chris's grasp, the next morning, I
rolled over to where, at home, my side of the bed would have been. Of
course, in this single bed there was no other side. Upon hitting the floor
all airs of sleep fell from me. I got up and dusted myself down before
searching for the shower. I found a bathroom across the hall from our room
and turned on the water.
I crept under the steaming gush and began to soap my hair. I felt a click as
the door opened and felt my boyfriend step in behind me. Turning to meet his
gaze I lowered my lips to his and we embraced. The water fell over us and
dripped down our legs and we still kissed. As the water grew colder I
reached behind me and turned off the shower. The sudden absence of heat made
Chris shiver. I clung to him tighter and began to rub his shoulders to warm
him up.
After the affair in the shower I grabbed a bathrobe and descended the stairs
to make breakfast. Chris followed me and sat at the kitchen counter reading
the newspaper that had been delivered a few minutes before.
It was clear the divisions of our relationship. I took the traditional
female role: ensuring that everything was perfect; ensuring that Chris ate
and wore the proper things; ensuring that he even washed behind his ears.
Chris took the traditional male role of eating, sleeping and making love.
Even with these circumstances, I couldn't stop adoring the sweet Adonis
sitting at the table before me.
I laid out breakfast and we sat down to eat. Chris announced that he was
going to take me to sample the delights of Capitol City. It was a beautiful
day outside (well apart from the wind) and superb for walking around the
Smithsonian. I had a passion for museums and he knew it would take me hours
to visit all of them.
We dressed to combat the cold wind, and stepped out onto the doormat. Chris
pulled the door behind him and we walked into the centre of the Capitol -
eventually reaching the Washington Monument. Looking at one end I could
distantly see Abraham Lincoln Sitting in his memorial building and at the
other the sun reflected off of the high dome of the Capitol itself.
Deciding in which direction to go was slightly trickier. Do we go up to the
Capitol and walk amongst the Smithsonian's buildings or do we go down to the
Lincoln Memorial, and see the Korean and Vietnam Memorials? I moved for the
museums and Chris conceded.
Walking in the direction of the Capitol, we suddenly veered off to the right
and I dragged Chris into the Science Museum. We scanned the various
exhibitions for an hour before I realised that Chris couldn't stand science.
I should have guessed beforehand. We exited more quickly.
I was taken to the opposite side of the sanded walkway and we entered the
American History Museum. Chris, who felt he had something to prove towards
me, explained the wonderful American's to me for two hours. When we emerged
he looked at me eagerly; he was asking, with his eyes, whether I liked
American's.
`You take this far too seriously.' I laughed. `Come on, its just a bit of
politics.'
He looked dumbfounded. I couldn't stand the thought that he might actually
be angry with me. I looked away and changed the subject.
`Hey, Brother Richard, got something sorted with one of the Representatives
of the State of Rhode Island. He said that the guy would give us a tour of
the Capitol Building. I made the appointment for 12:00 today, and it's 11:30
now. We had better go, if we wanna make it.'
Brother Richard was our American Campus Director and Dean (the guy just
higher up the Chain of Command than the Headmaster). Apparently he had once
taught the politician when he was teaching in his home state of Rhode
Island. Once the guy got elected to the House of Representatives he kept in
touch with his old Headmaster and this was one of the favours he was
occasionally asked to do.
We met him at the foot of the Capitol and he brought us around to the steps
facing the Monument.
`Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. My name's Bill Grossman. I
represent Rhode Island in the House of Representatives, although I hope to
sit in the senate one day. I'll just show you the House, then we can go see
the Senate. It's in session today and I managed to reserve seats in the
gallery so we can watch them verbally bash each other.' He laughed.
Before I followed him in, I looked at Chris, who was still a bit put out by
the England/America dispute. I kissed him. I couldn't stop at the one and
just kept on and on. I pulled him in for an embrace and we kissed more
passionately.
`Well, I can now say that I kissed my boyfriend on the stairway to power.'
He brightened up. I was overjoyed. We turned and followed Bill into the
centre of Government.
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The end of the holiday soon came and we were bundled back into the plane
again. The engines fired up and Chris gave the expected groan.
When we were finally soaring through the sky, towards the clouds high above,
he made one fatal mistake -- he looked out of the window; his eyes met with
the ground several thousand feet below us, and I could tell that he was not
pleased. Five minutes later he had stopped vomiting.
As were spiralled into the unknown, the familiar buzz rang in our ears and a
voice began speaking.
`This is your Captain. We are now leaving American soil. We remind you that
before you land could all non-UK residents please fill out an immigration
form. Oh, and we may be expecting a little light turbulence from time to
time, but nothing to worry about.'
The microphone clicked and the voice died.
Chris glanced over at me. I could tell that he was worried about the
announcement of turbulence. His face somehow changed; in a matter of seconds
it had gone from normal, to a shockingly pale white, and then to a sickly
green.
For nine hours I sat there watching the repeat of the in-flight movie for
the fourth time. The food had already come and gone. Since he couldn't stand
to watch anyone eat at this point, Chris got up and walked around the cabin
for a while. This seemed to settle his stomach a little, because when he
returned he was smiling.
`What the hell is that?' He asked indignantly, pointing to the mash of
foodstuffs on the tray before me.
`Dunno' was the only thing I could say to that question.
`How can you eat something when you don't know what it is?' He picked up a
fork and poked the mashing. `...Or what it's supposed to be.' He quickly
added.
`I just can, okay. You remember what happened last time I stopped eating.'
The month before I was under a lot of stress with school and the coming-out,
etcetera. It had eventually got to the point where I had stopped eating. The
doctors diagnosed me as having "Anorexia Nervosa" -- a form of anorexia
brought on by anxiety and constant worry.
Anyway the outcome was that I was told to eat as much as I could. During the
previous month I had dropped to 5 stone in weight and was now only a meagre
7 stone. I had become so light, that Chris could pick me up without even
trying. I ate whatever was put in front of me -- including this...this...stuff!
`Suit yourself.' He finally gave in. `But don't come running to me if you
get salmonella poisoning.'
The conversation carried on. It ranged from school to Christmas. When we had
finally run out of things to say the plane gently touched the surface of the
runway. Chris had been so involved in chatting that he had forgotten his
airsickness and was quite content as the plane screeched to a stop outside
the terminal building.
It took quite a while for us to gather our suitcases and were eventually met
outside by my parents.
Scooping us up into their arms they hugged and kissed both of us. I found
this most unusual, but who am I to argue with higher powers.
I was too tired to do anything that night. I fell asleep in my lover's arms.
Three days later, the car pulled up outside the affair of redbricks that
made up home. We collected our cases and rushed upstairs to unpack our
clothes. It was a strange feeling -- the first time I had felt it. Here I was
in Chris's house and I thought of it as much as home as I did my own house.
It was more than a place that I sometimes stayed at -- it was my family. I
could count myself lucky; I had two families, each loving me as much as the
other did.
When I had finished unpacking, which had taken me longer than Chris simply
because he found it a good idea to unpack by throwing everything into draws
in any style rather than folding them properly, I gravitated towards the
lounge.
Here I found Chris and his Dad watching TV, in front of a blazing fire. I
assumed that Eileen was in the kitchen making dinner, so I sat next to my
boyfriend, on the hearthrug, and cuddled up close to him. He responded by
putting his arms around me and we sat in unison, watching the blaring box of
colour.
Paul glanced over at us and said that he couldn't see where I started and
Chris ended. Chris just smiled and pulled me closer. There was the feeling
again -- the electric shock that I had felt that night of my birthday.
However, no sooner had it come, and then it vanished again. I thought
nothing of it and continued to stare at the TV.
Suddenly the box stopped producing it's familiar sound and lulled into a
sombre hum, then died altogether. Chris has turned the TV off, and had
replaced it with something
even better. Holy Night blared from the Hi-Fi speakers (sorry, what can I
say? -- I'm an organist). The harsh harmony cut through me like a knife, but
was replaced by a feeling of floating-on-air as a simple melody combined
with it. I looked skywards and saw Chris swaying back and forth blowing
gently against the mouthpiece of his flute. The music echoed around the
walls and I was lost.
It wasn't a romantic piece of music, but with Chris anything is romantic. He
gazed down at my head, which was resting on the sofa, and willed my eyes to
look into his. I couldn't resist a quick glance. The mistake was, as ever,
fatal. Falling down into those eyes I tried to grip consciousness for a
handhold, but found none. Eventually I ebbed away into a tiny shell that
Chris could do what he liked with.
`I love you.' I murmured, my eyes still fixed on his.
The flute ceased for a few seconds as he prepared to answer.
`I know you do.' Came the non-romantic reply, which was quickly followed by
the romantic `I love you too, Jamie.'
He fell back into the rocking motion and resumed the flute playing. We
didn't notice, when Paul had risen from his seat on the sofa and had tiptoed
into the kitchen to leave us alone together.
Rousing from our dream, we heard him shout from the kitchen that it was time
to eat. Chris leapt into the air; I followed, a little more cautiously. Why
did I need to be cautious? This was my boyfriend's house wasn't it? What is
he gonna do, poison me? I had begun to talk to myself; I really was going
nuts.
We sat down at a table laden in true American style. There was too much food
for us all to eat -- or that's what I thought. I should have learnt that no
one should ever underestimate an American.
`Don't eat it all at once, Chris!' I advised from the opposite side of the
table.
Because his mouth was too full for a witty reply, he simply brought his bare
foot up between my legs and began stroking what was rapidly becoming hard.
This was worse that a verbal insult -- it was too uncomfortable while I was
eating. I kicked him and he subsided. Eileen shot him a withering glance
from her side of the table and he shrunk against the back of his chair and
slid down the back of it, so that he only remained on it by perching at its
furthest most point.
A sly grin started to appear on his face, but quickly dissipated when he saw
his Dad glaring at him. I felt sorry for Chris, his nature was naturally to
joke around, and here it was almost suppressed. We ate the rest of the meal
in silence.
Upon finishing the table-full of food I rose and followed Chris up the
stairs. At the top of the stairs he threw his arms around my neck and burst
out into a hail of sobs. I couldn't understand what was going on. Taking him
through to his room, I sat him down on the bed and tried to calm him down.
Nothing was working and he was becoming more and more hysterical. Finally he
flopped backwards onto the bed and wouldn't stop crying.
My hand swept across his face in a smooth arc, leaving behind it a clear
imprint of my hand in bold red. I couldn't believe I had slapped him. It did
however stop the tears.
He sat up, and rubbed his eyes. Amidst the occasional sob, Chris began to
tell me the whole story. He recounted to me how after we had got back the
fights had started. For three whole days he and his parents had been at it.
They were going through the non-acceptance stage of Chris and my
relationship. I found it strange that one moment they couldn't care and the
next they couldn't stand it. As I took him back into my arms he began to
weep again.
I discovered that it was mainly Chris's Dad who had started the fights. They
weren't serious, no violence (yet), but they did involve mental scares. I
was worried; I had to do something.
`Dad?' I mumbled down the phone.
`Yeah, Jamie, You okay?'
`Sure...' I explained the situation to him. `...do you think you could come
and...'
`Give me five minute.' The line went dead.
Moving back into Chris's room I assured him that everything was going to be
okay; he wouldn't believe me.
The doorbell rang and I heard voices in the corridor. Stepping out onto the
landing, I saw my parents welcomed inside and I saw the smiling faces of
both families. The disgust welled up inside me. After first checking to see
that Chris was still alright (lightly sobbing into his pillow), I snuck
downstairs and listened outside the kitchen door.
`...I can't believe that you can just sit there and let this happen. He needs
to be straightened out!'
`Straightened out?' My Mother had gotten involved and her voice was becoming
raised. `You bloody hypocrite. One minute you love them both, buying them a
holiday for two, and the next you are trying to divide them.'
I could sense that this was going to take a while. I started back up the
stairs until a comment stopped me dead in my tracks.
`Your son is a fag, and he is trying to turn our son's head!'
I couldn't help myself. Running back down the steps, I flung open the
kitchen doors and began to shout at the top of my voice.
`I'm not a bloody fag! The word is gay; it's not a disgusting or dirty word,
it's what I am, and it's what your son is. Chris and I love each other for
God's sake. Can you honestly stand there and tell me that this is all my
fault. Did I make Chris kiss me in London? Did I make him blow me upstairs
that first night? Did I make him fuck me in France?'
This had been effective: both of Chris's parents had gone sheet-white. I
turned and found Chris smiling at me, through a veil of tears. I could see
Paul's anger rising by the minute. Fortunately so could Eileen.
`Chris, are you going to stay at Jamie's house tonight?' She was anxious to
get him out of the house before Paul exploded.
I turned him around and propelled him towards the door. As I gave him to my
Mom, to take him into car, and I spied the gleaming flute that was still
lying on the sofa. Grabbing it I dashed out to the car, after my Mom. The
tyres screeched as we left my Dad to continue the discussion.
Once home, I led Chris into the house. I had never known him to cry this
much before. The tears started to fall from my own eyes.
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Did you like this one? You'll have to wait for chapter 12 to see what
happens between Chris and his Dad.
The names (apart from mine and Chris's) have been changed to protect
individuals.
We're always around, so e-mail us if you have any questions you want to ask
someone about being gay/lesbian. We're open to both older or younger
readers. We're always ready to listen.
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